


Pornalot 2016 - Ficlet Collection (4 fics, 2 drawings)

by Candymacaron



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Anonymous Sex, Baker! Arthur, Batman/Superman - Freeform, Clone Sex, Digital Art, Dubious Morality, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ficlet Collection, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Smut, Food Kink, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Protective Gwaine, Secretary Merlin, Self-cest, Teacher-Student Relationship, age difference (but not underage), personal assistant, pornalot_2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 07:22:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7967647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candymacaron/pseuds/Candymacaron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of four short ficlets from Merlin Pornalot 2016 Fest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "Subject of Study" written for challenge #1 - Authority  
>  "A Lot Like Me" written for bonus challenge #2 - Revenge  
>  "Cake Wrecked" written for challenge #3 - Kink Link  
>  "Personal Assistant" written for challenge #4 - Exposed
> 
> Thank you to the fabulous [Detochkina](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Detochkina/pseuds/Detochkina) for the beta! <3

**-Subject Of Study-**

The brass door handle opens easily, and without the key Arthur Pendragon had used to lock it nearly an hour ago.

He pushes it gently with his fingertips, peering inside the open crack before stepping into his classroom.

The room boasts the same four familiar walls; the only thing out of place is that before leaving, Arthur had switched off all of the lights. Now, a flicker of neon floods the centre of the room, circling a solitary figure.

It’s late in the day for a visit from one of Arthur’s co-workers, and too early for the janitor.

A thief?

No. It’s more likely a student venting their maths frustrations through a prank. It wouldn’t be the first time after grading that Arthur found molasses coating his chair, or a snake in his desk drawer.

This trick, however, borderlines on breaking and entering. As a teacher, Arthur can’t abide by that.

“Hello?” Arthur calls.

He takes a step, and freezes in recognition.

Merlin, one of Arthur’s Upper Sixth students, leans against the white board beside Arthur’s desk, his shoulder smudging calculations for tomorrow’s class.

Merlin’s topless, save for a navy tie hanging down his chest. His nipples are peaked, his fair skin sallow under the economical light.

“You picked the lock?” Arthur asks. He’s aiming for cheeky, but his voice comes out high and embarrassingly pre-pubescent.

“I came to pick you, Mr Pendragon,” replies Merlin. His breathing is as erratic as prey, but his smile is all predatory. “Not the bloody lock.”

Merlin flexes as he rubs the hair at the back of his neck. It’s coy, and Arthur supposes it’s meant to be seductive—and it is—in an awkward way. Everything about Merlin’s endearingly awkward, from his thick glasses and sloppy Windsor knot, to his crinkle-eyed smile.

For a moment, Arthur forgets that Merlin is a student, and not his subject of study. He clears his throat, looks up at the ceiling, to the crack that’s remained through three years of maintenance complaints.

He’s veteran teacher. He’s dealt with schoolboy crushes before, and can fix this.

Wetting his lips, Arthur says, “The first time you bother wearing the uniform regulation tie, Mr Emrys, and you’ve forgotten the shirt that goes with it.”

This makes Merlin smile brighter. “And the trousers.”

“—Trousers?”

As Merlin undoes his belt Arthur sprints across the room, hoping to stop him. Merlin’s trousers slide down his slim calves, his belt tossed aside.

Arthur circles the desk. He takes one look at Merlin’s tight white y-fronts, the perfect curve of his cock poking through, and gasps.

This is going to be more difficult than he’d anticipated.

Clasping both hands over his face, Arthur exhales into his palms. He peeks at Merlin between his fingers, the way one would if a lorry was barreling towards them. “Are you trying to get me sacked? Or just kill me?”

Merlin shrugs. “Sacked is one way to put it.”

Arthur wants to leave—he truly does—but Merlin’s blocking his path, standing before Arthur like a scantily-clad offering to the higher maths gods.

Cornered, Arthur steps backward without looking. His shoes scramble for purchase as his arse hits the edge of his desk.

Merlin slinks towards Arthur. With a kick he nudges open Arthur’s feet, wiggling between Arthur’s thighs, and nuzzles him like a cat.

Arthur’s accustomed to keeping his feelings at bay—to crushing them—ignoring Merlin’s obvious in-class flirtations, for the betterment of both their futures.

It’s difficult when he’s this close.

“Come here,” Merlin says in a whisper.

Arthur shakes his head, and Merlin chuckles. He lifts his tie, flicks it playfully against Arthur’s nose before dragging it across Arthur’s parted lips.

“They’ve all gone,” Merlin whispers. “No one’s going to stop us.”

Arthur’s breathing is so erratic that when Merlin stands on tiptoe, his tie falling as his teeth catch Arthur’s lower lip, Arthur honest-to-goodness whines.

Merlin slides his arms around Arthur’s waist. He sighs happily into Arthur’s mouth, and the world falls away, because truthfully, from the moment Merlin Emrys walked into Arthur Pendragon’s classroom at the start of the year, there was no one else.

Only Merlin troubles Arthur like an impossible equation. Merlin, in his wrinkled school uniform, his fringe tussled in attractive imperfection.

Merlin, always the first to raise his hand, eyes ringed with exhaustion, his answers flawless.

Never in Arthur’s career had he known a student so frighteningly intelligent.

Merlin deepens their kiss, his glasses clicking against Arthur's temple. He rolls his hips, rutting against Arthur’s thigh as he tries to climb up into his lap to straddle him.

Then it’s too much. Too real.

With a grunt, Arthur pushes Merlin away.

“Stop it,” he says. He leans on the desk, wipes the taste of Merlin off his lips with the back of his hand, squeezing his eyes closed. “I can’t think when you do that!”

Merlin flinches, but doesn’t move away.

Arthur’s hard, painfully so. No matter how he shifts his stance, he can’t even begin to hide it. Fumbling with his buttons, he whips off his blazer and throws it over Merlin’s shoulders.

Merlin’s eyes widen. He shivers, as if just realizing that the room’s freezing, or how exposed he must look.

His angry gaze burrows into Arthur.

“You don't want me?” Merlin snaps.

Arthur blows out a breath and shakes his head. He won’t deny his feelings—can’t deny them—not when evidence to the contrary is so... physical.

“Don't be ridiculous,” Arthur replies.

“This isn’t my first time,” counters Merlin. “If that’s what you're—”

“—I wouldn’t care if it’s your hundredth! I'm your teacher, Merlin. Anyone who’d take advantage of you like this, he… he wouldn’t be deserving. Please. Don’t make me that person. I couldn’t live with myself.”

Merlin’s face falls. He’s hunched, holding his arms. Tears spill down both of his cheeks, his misery magnified by thick prescription lenses. He wipes them with his tie, instead of using the sleeve of Arthur’s blazer .

Thoughtlessly, Arthur bundles Merlin back into his arms. He strokes Merlin’s hair , and Merlin trembles against his chest. Arthur’s taller than his student, barely, but this could change over the blink of summer, judging by how Merlin’s grown up in the brief time Arthur’s known him.

Yes, by summer, and Merlin’s A-Level exams, everything between them could change. But for now, they’ll both need to learn how to survive one another through spring.

**Fin**

 

 

**-A Lot Like Me-**

Arthur gets sacked from Clone Corps Friday morning over a minor breach in company protocol.

Any other employee would have received a red mark on their file —a simple slap on the wrist —but Arthur’s father hurls a coffee cup at his head, which shatters against the break-room wall in a porcelain explosion.

With a shout Arthur lunges at Uther’s middle, tackling him to the ground. He pins his father’s arms behind his back, shaking the old man until a card-key tumbles out of his pocket onto the coffee-drenched linoleum floor.

As security manages to pry them apart, Arthur tucks the card-key into his sock.

Uther scurries to his feet, struggling to breathe. He watches a pair of security guards haul Arthur away, and hollers at his son to _go fuck himself._

***

Trudging down the Clone Corps office steps with a termination letter in hand, Arthur contemplates the death of his ten-year career.

The company can’t possibly continue the project without him— _Arthur is the project._

He stares up at the grey-black sky and with gritted teeth, vows to take Uther up on his challenge.

***

Breaking into Clone Corps isn’t difficult with the proper authentication key, but smuggling a body out of it’s a struggle.

Somehow, Arthur manages both in the same night.

He shutters the blinds in his industrial row flat, bolts the door, and stares himself in the face.

“Hello,” Arthur says, admiring the pilfered clone seated before him on his sofa.

The clone blinks in confusion, probably a little delirious from being stuffed in a trunk the last half-hour. It’s dressed in a flimsily white hospital gown, open at the back. After a beat, it echoes an identical greeting to back Arthur.

Arthur watches the steady pull of the clones breathing, the outline of its body— his body —silhouetted through the cloth. He’s fit, built solid like an athlete. His eyes are blue and expressive, but not guileless. His face is strong, with an arrogant mouth that would look _incredible_ curled around a cock.

Arthur licks his lips. He likes the look of himself, and it’s not like he hasn’t fantasied about the idea. Working in a sterile room all day surrounded by genetically perfect versions of you is bound to make a man… curious.

_Does fucking a clone even count as sex, or is it simply a superior form of masturbation?_

Arthur adjusts his trousers as he contemplates this. He sits beside the clone on the sofa.

The clone looks up at Arthur innocently.

Running his fingers through its hair, Arthur tilts the clone’s head back, guiding him forward until their lips meet.

The sensation of it, the fundamental _wrongness_ , sends chills through Arthur’s body. The clone’s ridged at first, but as Arthur deepens the kiss he becomes pliant, clasping Arthur's bicep as their mouths smack wetly together.

_Fuck._

_He’s a good kisser, too._

They break apart. The clone’s cheeks are flush, saliva shimmering on his bottom lips as he pants for more air.

Clearly, it's the first time he’s been touched.

“More?” Arthur asks.

The clone nods, and Arthur ditches his kit.

Arthur straddles the clone, resting comfortably on his thick thighs. His leg hair tickles Arthur’s arse, taught muscles flexing to accomidate Arthur’s weight.

Arthur wraps one arm around his broad waist, loosening the strings of the hospital gown, and there’s no going back.

There’s no fumbling when they make love, no awkward foreplay. They each fuck like the other wants, Arthur working his clone open with clever words and spit-slicked fingers.

Arthur wants to claim himself.

He wants to fuck himself—over, and over, and over again—the way life has done to him.

Bending his clone over the sofa, Arthur yanks his golden hair back like reigns, hammering into him until there’s no physical separation between the two of them, only an angry beat of skin-on-skin.

Arthur knows what he can handle, how far he can push before he breaks. But what he doesn’t know—what he's dying to know— is how good his orgasm will feel inside himself.

“Good boy,” Arthur says, sweat dripping from his forehead onto the clones arched back. “You’re so good, Arthur.”

The clone moans deep within it’s throat and Arthur seizes, orgasm shuddering, and if he sobs as he comes it’s no matter.

There’s nobody but himself in the flat to hear it.

**Fin**

 

 

**-Cake Wrecked-**

“I need a cake,” Merlin says.

The blond baker behind counter snaps on a plastic glove, rolling it down his hand the way one would a condom. He tilts his chin up, smiles intently at Merlin, and says, “Are you looking for anything in particular?”

Merlin’s stomach growls; around him confections beckon with their chocolaty goodness, brandishing wholesome messages like, 'Get well soon, Mum', and 'Happy 1st Birthday'. The shop is old-school, almost feminine in its pastel decor, the bloke helping Merlin fit and gorgeous; exactly the type of person Merlin doesn’t want to deal with right now.

He feels like a deviant for even contemplating what he’s about to ask.

“I don’t think you understand,” replies Merlin. “This is a special cake, for a special occasion. I’m not asking for a run-of-the-mill buttercream here, but something more…”

“Decadent?” chimes the baker. “We’ve a wide variety of chocolate cakes. May I suggest a black velvet?” He winks once at Merlin, and Merlin sighs, rubbing circles over his temple.

“Look,” Merlin says. “My flatmate, Gwaine, suggest that I come here for…um… a particular custom cake. Perhaps I’ve made a mistake?”

“Ah,” says the baker, recognition lighting his blue eyes. “That type of cake.” He chuckles. “Then we’d better start here.”

He dips behind the counter for a moment, and returns with a dust-covered non-descript binder, letting Merlin browse through the various pictures. Genitals of every colour and flavour decorate the laminate pages, frosted in a multitude of styles and sweeteners.

The baker leans his left elbow on the counter, watching as Merlin quickly thumbs through the vaginal cakes, and makes his way towards the back of the binder.

“Is this for a hen-do?” the baker asks after a beat. “Or a stag night?”

Merlin looks up briefly and shakes his head. He points to a photo of a comically erect phallus made with pineapple sponge cake, the words ‘Congratulations, Dick’ scrolled over the cookie-crumb coat testicles in blue icing.

“I want that one,” Merlin says, holding up the binder for the baker to see.

“Ah, the A2 style. That cock-cake is two kilo, and feeds sixteen to twenty people. Sure it’s big enough?”

“I’ve seen bigger,” shrugs Merlin. “And you’ll need to change the wording.”

“What should it say?”

“It should say, ‘Eat my entire arse, you fucking-fuck’,” says Merlin through gritted teeth.

The baker frowns. He takes the binder from Merlin with a gentle hand. “Wow. Okay,” he replies, licking his lips. “And what exactly is the occasion for this cake?”

Merlin shifts from foot to foot, trying to ignore the concerned way the baker is evaluating him, and how attractive the man looks with his rolled-up shirtsleeves, and tight little flour-stained apron.

“It’s a breakup cake,” he says. “A cake you send your ex, to tell them— “

“—To eat your entire arse?” suggests the baker with a smirk.

“Yeah. Something like that.” Merlin flushes.  
The baker sighs as he shakes his head. “Call me behind the times, but I don’t get it,” he says.

“What is there to not get?” Merlin asks.

“I don’t get why a fit, handsome, bloke like yourself would need to send your ex a cake just to get back at him. Besides, cakes are delicious.” The baker motions to the glass display case full of treats as if in proof. “I mean, who wouldn’t want to get a cake?”

Merlin can’t help but giggle at the man’s sincerity. “Some people don’t like cake, you know.”

“Don’t be daft. Everybody likes cake,” replies the baker. “And also, why a cock-cake when you’re asking him to eat your arse? You really should be ordering an arse shaped cake. That’s just common sense. Unless of course… you’re not really over this guy?”

Merlin startles. “What!” he snaps, snatching the binder back from where it lay. “I’m so over him! You have no idea how over him I am!”

“Right.” The baker’s voice dips low, taking on a gravely quality. He motions Merlin closer with a gloved hand and leans over the countertop, eyes hooded, a conspiratorial look on his face. “If you’re as over this ex as you say you are, do you know what the sweetest revenge would be?”

“What?” asks Merlin. His throat is suddenly parched, his eyes locked onto the bakers parted lips.

“You,” purrs the baker, “Letting me eat your hot arse out instead.”

***

“This must be against every health code violation imaginable,’” Merlin pants. He’s spread-eagle on the bakery floor, starkers, sprinkles still coating his lips, and milk chocolate dried in all the wrong places.

“It’s fine,” mumbles the baker. He rolls over beside Merlin, strawberry icing smeared across his face like lipstick after a long night at a club. “Didn't’ shag anywhere near the prep-room, and we used plenty of gloves. Completely sanitary.”

Merlin laughs until his belly hurts from the movement and eating one too many sweets. He pulls the baker closer, who’s light hair is dishevelled, powder-sugar tinged, his muscular body naked, excluding the tiny white apron Merlin insisted he wear throughout the debauching.

“I didn’t know you could use baking chocolate like that.” Merlin grins. “It was… innovative.”

“Makes a fabulous lubricant when warmed,” chimes the baker with a touch of pride. He straddles Merlin, licks the rainbow sprinkles at the corner of Merlin’s mouth and kisses him, over, and over, and over again, until their lips taste like sex and spun sugar.

Merlin playfully pushes him away. “Modeled all those cock cakes after yourself, did you?” he teases, pulling at this apron strings, until the cloth falls off his waist. “Now, about my order…”

“Anything you want, baby,” groans the baker. “Cake’s on the house.”

**Fin**

 

 

**-Personal Assistant-**

“You don’t pay attention to anything in this office,” Merlin says.

Arthur scowls at his PA, continuing to type on his keyboard. Merlin should be answering phones, or whatever else Arthur pays his scrawny arse to do—which is definitely not taunting.

“That’s absurd,” Arthur replies. “Shouldn’t you be more productive? I can give you more work.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “I already do everything around here.” With his palms on Arthur’s desk, he leans over the monitor. “And what I said before is true.”

Merlin may be a lazy twat of a PA, but there are moments when, despite his cow-licked hair and perpetually clueless expression, he’s… cute. With only Merlin in the office Arthur has, reluctantly, begun to enjoy his company.

Arthur catches himself staring at Merlin’s mouth, a fraction too long. He clears his throat.

“You’re so dense, Arthur,” continues Merlin in a sweet voice. “Dense. As. Dirt.”

“That’s insubordination,” quips Arthur, a smirk on his lips.

“Big word there, Sir. Careful you don’t cramp your brain.”

Sighing, Arthur pushes Merlin’s head away from his screen while handing Merlin his empty cup. “Less chat and more tea. Now .”

Shrugging, Merlin takes the cup. “What if I can prove you don’t pay attention to what goes on around here?”

“I’ll raise your salary,” says Arthur dryly.

Merlin walks to the doorway, cradling the cup. The mischief in his expression doesn’t sit well with Arthur.

“Challenge accepted,” Merlin replies. “I'm changing one thing about this office, one, and if you can’t guess what it is by the end of the week… I win.”

***

When Arthur arrives in on Monday, nothing’s out of place. Merlin’s desk is its usual mess, Merlin nowhere in sight, probably fetching coffee. The plants are watered, his voicemail taken care of.

Arthur settles into his seat, cracks his knuckles, and dives into work. It isn’t until mid-afternoon that Merlin makes an appearance.

“I scheduled that flight you wanted,” chimes Merlin’s voice in the distance.

“Good,” Arthur grumbles, not looking up. He continues typing, aware of Merlin’s light breathing. For some reason Arthur can’t comprehend, Merlin hasn’t left the room.

Finally, Arthur looks up at his PA, who’s standing at the edge of Arthur’s desk, as close as one can get without tumbling over it.

“Can I help you?” Arthur says, raising an eyebrow at Merlin.

Merlin plays with his hands. He’s a bit flush, and there’s a strange expectant look on his face.

“I…” He pauses, looks at his hands again. “You really haven’t noticed it yet?”

“Noticed...what?” replies Arthur.

Merlin chuckles. “Nothing. I’ll… get that hotel booked for your trip now.”

Arthur mutters his assent, looking down at his keyboard. By the time he looks up again, Merlin’s vanished.

***

The rest of Arthur’s week follows in a similar fashion, Merlin’s behavior getting stranger and stranger. He’ll enter Arthur’s office, always when Arthur is mid-project, hovering as close to the front of the desk as possible and stare at Arthur, with a bashful look on his face that Arthur can’t figure out the meaning of. By the time Arthur looks up from whatever he’s working on, Merlin’s gone. Again.

***

By Friday evening, even Merlin’s had enough of his game.

“Are you kidding me!” he blurts, leaning over the desk to physically snatch Arthur’s keyboard from him.

“Huh?” Arthur replies, like the brilliant executive he is.

“Arthur.” Merlin puts the keyboard aside, pinches his brow. “Please. Tell me this is a joke, that you’re messing with me right now, or letting me down easy.”

“Letting you…” Arthur looks at Merlin’s earnest expression and the heat in his cheeks. Merlin’s either horrendously embarrassed or pissed at him. But more importantly, Arthur can’t understand what Merlin’s yammering about.

“You still haven’t figured out what I’ve changed?” Merlin asks.

Oh. That. Arthur had completely forgotten about that wager. He sits back in his chair, takes a visual inventory of the room in a desperate attempt, but… no. Nothing seems out of sorts, besides his PA.

Shaking his head, Merlin starts to laugh and then stops. With the look of a man facing a firing squad, he rounds the desk and faces Arthur.

Arthur’s eyes widen. He grips his armrest.

“Merlin,” he exclaims, feeling a flush rise up his chest, surprise and… dare he say… excitement constricting his voice. “You’re… you’re not wearing any trousers? ”

Merlin’s laugh is long and self-deprecating. “Arthur, I haven’t been wearing them all week .”

Arthur scrubs a hand across his face. Seeing Merlin standing before him, all lithe legs, pale skin and…

“Are you… some kind of nudist?” he says feebly. He doesn’t want to offend Merlin, truly, but can’t wrap his head around what he’s seeing. How much he likes it.

“No, you clotpole,” Merlin says. “It’s not a lifestyle. I… maybe I meant it when I said you don’t pay attention to anything in this office, and by anything I meant…” Merlin shakes his head, and Arthur swears his bottom lip quivers as he says, “Maybe the thing I want you to pay a bit more attention to is, well, me .”

“Merlin.” Arthur stands up instinctively. “How could you think… I didn’t mean to make you feel like your contributions didn’t matter, that you didn’t matter. You matter to me a great deal.”

“Yeah?” Merlin says. He raises his head.

“Would you like me to show you how much?”

Merlin makes a hopeful whimper as Arthur steps into his space. He meets Merlin’s eyes, and says, “Honestly, I figured you more of a yfront’s type of man, but commando suits you.”

Nodding, Merlin looks Arthur up and down. “Was hoping it’d help me claim my prize.”

Arthur smiles back. “It’s yours. Anything. You’ve won fair and square.”

With tentative touches, Merlin’s fingers skim Arthur’s waist, the small of his back, sliding inside Arthur’s trousers and under the elastic waistband of his pants.

Arthur shudders and falls into him with a groan.

Their kisses are frantic, messy. Papers fly, and the keyboard topples, until there isn’t a shred of clothing left between them.

As Arthur crawls between Merlin’s parted legs on the desktop, taking him gently in hand with spit-slicked strokes, he asks, “Now, you’re sure this is the kind of raise that you want?”

Merlin huffs a laugh, arching, his head falling back as Arthur takes him deep into his mouth.

For once in their relationship, Arthur’s found a way to make his PA speechless.

**Fin**


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Gwaine had so many questions—like would it glow in the dark if they shagged—and how did it build this weird subterranean porn-dungeon? Whatever the case, he'd yet to meet an orifice that he didn't like.”
> 
> Written for challenge #2 - Rare


	3. Batman vs Superman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for bonus challenge #1 - Superheroes and Supervillains


End file.
